Page 82 of The French Honeymoon

An arm wraps around her neck, pressing her down. Another one grabs her wrist, flipping her onto her stomach. Now both of her hands are held tight behind her. Her shoulders hurt, but it’s the least of her problems. She tries to throw her head back, as hard as she can, to get some air. But as she rises to the surface of the water, she is pressed back down more forcefully.

She tries to kick her legs around, fully aware that time is running out. She must do something, tell someone.

I know what you did.

You’ll never get away with it.

Nothing happens for a while. She just floats away, her forehead bumping against the hard bottom of the brand-new tub.

The surface fizzes for a few angry seconds.

And then the bubbles vanish.